Swings and Scarlet
by gill9786
Summary: John believes Sherlock is still alive and is determined to find him as he discovers a letter from Sherlock explaining the fake suicide. Sherlock/Watson
1. Chapter 1

He's been gone for almost six months.

It's so hard to continue on doing _his _work, at _his_ flat, doing things _he _should be doing. The dark curly-haired sociopath has changed me from the weak, remorseful war veteran to Dr. Watson, assistant of Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world. The time we worked and lived together at 221b Baker Street changed the both of us, whether he cares to admit it or not.

Mrs. Hudson and I refuse to visit his grave anymore, and neither of us have been able to remove his belongings from the flat.

_He is here._

Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft believe me to be insane these days. I once told them that there was no way he, the genius and thrill seeker, would ever choose to end his life.

I could practically imagine what he would say, "_John suicide is a type of action especially reserved for the weak or stupid"_

I tend to reserve my beliefs of him being alive to myself. Instead, I carry on his work somehow, channeling my brief knowledge of deduction and what Sherlock taught me about people. It's not the same though. He kept cases exciting and worth solving. Now, I work on cases to support myself and retain some bit of honor in his name. Wherever he is, he will surely return and restore his dignity. For the time being, I feel as if it is my responsibility to protect him.

I'm not sure when I got so attached and fixated with Sherlock Holmes. I had spent most of my life with people who were so predictable and carefully arranged their lives to fit them. Sherlock acted impulsively and though his constant sarcastic and narcissistic remarks were ever-present, he found ways to surprise me.

Take the moment we sat in the tea room of the inn near the Baskerville military base for example. Previously, he had denied any sort of emotion except bare disappointment and pride. I looked down and saw his hand shaking. He saw it too. What he did next surprised me even further; that he admitted feeling fear.

In that moment, I caught myself thinking of grabbing his hand, not romantically, but to steady it with my own. After all, he had supported me all that time and I owed him some form of comfort.

However, he admitting to any sort of emotion is what makes me believe he is alive. Isn't suicide- after all- displaying to the world that you did possess emotions? It seemed that he would very unlikely admit that.

Then again, he liked to surprise the world.

I sit down in my chair in our flat at 221b Baker Street and pull out the newspaper as I always do in the mornings, looking for any sort of sign he could be alive.

_Nothing, as usual. _

I throw the paper onto the coffee table and then a book Sherlock quite likes tumbles to the floor, where it lies open. A white envelope is stuck in the spine.

I reach over and remove the envelope from the book, reading the writing on the outside. _I know this handwriting. _

On the exterior it is written: _My Dearest John -Sherlock_


	2. Chapter 2

My fingers tremble as I tear open the top of the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded so perfectly it could only be done by he himself. I carefully open the sheet of paper, not wanting to get my fingerprints on it, as if it's a piece of evidence.

"_Dearest John,_

_ I write this letter in the lab at St. Bartholomew's. I am terribly sorry this has to be done. I am aware of the fact you are probably reading this before I even commit the act I will later mention. If not, I have greatly underestimated your intellect-_

Bastard.

"_but I do apologize for what I am about to do. However John, I need you to listen to me. You must not look for me. You must not mention this to anyone- Mrs. Hudson, nor Mycroft,. You must continue on as you were before because if anything, I am a man of my word and I intend on returning to Baker Street._

What is he talking about?

"_I faked my own suicide. The logistics of the event will be explained later, however Molly assisted me so if you have any further questions after this you may ask her."_

He's alive?

_Sherlock Holmes is alive. _

Of course he is. I knew a man such as he would never succumb to death willingly.

But- then where is he... and why would he leave himself behind in dishonor.

"_I am safe at the moment, dear John you needn't worry about me. I do not know how long I must disappear for, but you must keep the promise I made for you- do not look for me._

_-SH"_

I put the letter down on the coffee table with shaking hands. That man is so... vague. I had at least hoped for an explanation but he was alive. That was good enough for me.

_Molly. _I think. _I must speak with her. _

What I am feeling right now- I can't place my finger on it. I had felt empty for so long, like the void within me was there because he had abandoned me. But I knew it was also purely because I missed him. I missed seeing his black trench coat whooshing about the house, I missed making him tea or coffee: black, two sugars. I missed the proximity of us, how we were a pair: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

I guess it must be the soldier in me, but being part of something else with other people is who I am. Especially Sherlock, because life was never dull. He eliminated boredom by hanging himself or shooting a wall. I preferred the life where I was doing something all the time, which Sherlock provided. He made me feel alive again- or at least like I was back on the battlefield.

_Enough of that._

I intend to see Molly tonight, because there is no possible way I can leave this situation alone at the moment.

I lift myself out of the chair and gather my outer-clothes to protect me from the cold London night. 

I stand up and grab my coat from the hanger. As I pull it off the hook, a small grey deerstalker falls to the floor.

_Soon you'll come back, _I think to myself and rush out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly sits in the lab as I push the glass door open to enter, tripping over the doorframe.

"John?" Molly exclaims as she jumps up in surprise.

"I need to speak with you about this" I say as I shove the letter into her hand.

"What..." she begins, but as she quickly reads the letter her eyes widen and she puts a hand over her mouth.

"I don't... he said he wasn't going to tell you until he returned" she says, placing the letter back in my outstretched hand.

"You knew all this time?" I say in disbelief.

"You watched me suffer for _months_ when in reality he has been alive this whole time?"

"John... I'm so sorry" she stutters as tears begin to roll down her face.

"Why did he do it? And where is he now?" I demand as I walk closer to her, placing the letter down on the table.

Molly looks at the note and buries her face in her hands for a moment. She looks up eventually but the look of shock and guilt on her face is gone and replaced with some sort of empathy for me. She stands quiet for a moment longer, staring at the ground.

"_Spit it out Molly". _I am losing my patience with her.

"John, Sherlock..." she trails off as she looks up at me.

"Sherlock was alive. He came to me with this elaborate plan he had made up the day he knew he would have to fake his suicide. He knew Moriarty's plans... Moriarty was real by the way, and he came to me because he knew I would be able to help him"

_Past tense. Why did she say "was alive"?_

"I agreed because he had that look in his eyes, you probably know the one I am talking about, where he looks distant but you can tell he's trying to cover up the fact that he's actually feeling-"

"Yes Molly, just continue please" I say, irritated and anxious.

She swallows audibly and continues, "Well I told him that whatever he needs, I could do it for him. He said he needed me to place a body, one that fairly resembled him, from the morgue, onto the pavement in front of St. Bartholomew's at the time he designated. He said he would have to fake his own suicide because Moriarty had told Sherlock of "the final problem", which he accurately guessed correctly. Moriarty's "final problem" was staying alive and for Sherlock, not."

_Ironic isn't it. With the cellphone ringtone and all._

"He would jump off the top of St. Bartholomew's and below, there was a laundry truck parked almost on the sidewalk, so that he would fall into that. The truck was full of laundry, obviously, so his fall was less painful. You were unable to see him hit the ground because there was a building in between you and where he supposedly landed."

"_It's just a magic trick."_

"_No don't move. Stay exactly where you are. Keep your eyes fixed on me."_

"The truck pulled away and I had placed the body on the ground already. The people who were around the site at the time were part of the homeless network, I suppose Sherlock had asked them to pretend to be bystanders. One woman had a bag that contained blood I had given her. She placed it on the ground and on the corpse. You, meanwhile were on the ground after a man on a bike that Sherlock had hired hit you. You were concussed, and as you ran to Sherlock, the homeless people had surrounded him and made it difficult for you to see him that well. You took his pulse and were immediately held back. You saw what you thought you would see, which was Sherlock dead on the ground in front of you, as a result of your disorientation. We had arranged for paramedics to quickly pull him away on a gurney, Sherlock paid them off in advance but they knew nothing; only that they were to pull away a corpse from the street and immediately bring it to me in post-mortem. I filled out the paperwork and took care of all the legal matters and pronounced Sherlock Holmes dead."

Outstanding. That man was a genius.

"He was driven away to the docks, where he had arranged for a boat to take him to France, then he traveled to Spain. He had provisions in place, enough to last him for years."

"Why Spain?"

"Do you remember Irene Adler?"

He had been with _the woman _all this time? Wasn't she dead?

"I had heard she was killed by a terrorist cell over a year ago." I said.

"Yes, well apparently not. Sherlock went through a great deal of trouble to pretend that is what happened but she had asked him for help faking her death once again."

_I was thorough this time._

_The only man who could ever outsmart me is Sherlock._

Mycroft had said that he had made absolute sure that Irene Adler was dead, however he had then said the only person who would be able to fool him was Sherlock. I guess he had been right.

"Well where is he now?" I demanded.

Molly turned her head away, tears beginning to stream down her face once again.

"Molly-" I began, agitated, but she cut me off.

"Sherlock Holmes died in Spain with Irene Adler."


End file.
